


Welcome to the Wonderland (Whumptober)

by NatF2003



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:13:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26811943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatF2003/pseuds/NatF2003
Summary: This is my take of the Whumptober prompts, and it's my first time doing it so sorry if it's not the best.I'll try to post them on the days, but some could occasionally be late.Mixture of canon divergence and alternate universe ideas, including Irondad, Spidermom and Avengers.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Avengers Team, Peter Parker & Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Kudos: 13





	1. Let's Hang Out Sometime

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so this is my first whumptober attempt, so sorry if it's not too great. 
> 
> Peter is the biological son of Tony, but they frame it as an internship at school.

Peter came to with a groan. Scrunching his eyes, he tried to listen to anything around him, but could only hear the sound of water dripping from... somewhere, and a mechanical whir some place on his left.

Eyes heavy, he dragged them open before groggily looking around the room. It wasn't anything special, damp and dark with waterpipes overhead. His forehead creased in confusion.

Where was he? How did he get here? His vision swam for a moment before straightening out again. Attempting to lift his head, it fell back on whatever he was sitting on, neck unusually weak.

Hearing the unrelenting silence, he tried to stretch out his legs, only to feel them get stopped by something wrapped around his ankles.

Chest constricting, he pulled at his legs, moving his arms to break off whatever was around his legs before gettibg stopped by metal cuffs curling around his forearms.

Breaths short and fast, he pulled, and pulled, and pulled. He moved his arms sideways, pushed them forward, twisted his body in a gamble to break out, but all thag was resulted in was a snapping in his left ankle.

He yelped, white hot pain racing up from his ankle, and he whimpered as he slumped forward.

Under the cuffs his arms felt slick, and looking out he could see the sharp edges had cut into his fless, and blood had begun to trickle between his fingers. Feeling the same dampness around his ankles, he assumed they were in the same state.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, the only thing breaking the silence his heavy breathing. Sweat crawled along his spine. He didn't understand. The room had been cold.

A tear slipped down his cheek, and manh more began to follow. Cuffed to a chair. Someone must have put him there, right?

"H-hello? Is anyone there? Hey! P-please, let me out. I don't-I don't know why I'm here, please. Someone? Hello?!" He continued to yell out until his voice beoke into sobs, throat hoarse.

Every time he thought he would stop, another wave crashed over him and he began all over again. At this point he wanted someone - anyone - to come break the solitude. 

His mouth is sanpaper, stomach aching as he tries to listen for anyone, anything. He lnew it had been over an hiur, but how many? Why wasn't anyone there? Hiw did he get here?

He tried to remember, but he only ever got as far as beginning his treck to the Tower. He'd been walking along his usual route, the streets unaturally quiet as he heard tires screech, a black van pull out. People got out, holding something. 

He ran, they chased. He couldn't run fast, his breathing got heavy, he kept pushin, before something hit him in the back of the head and then: nothing.

It would explain the faint copper smell at the start. Now the room smelt of blood, sweat and tears. 

He still couldn't understand. Why would somebody take him? To the public, he was simply a lowly intern at the Tower, a promising one at most. Unless...

His eyes widened in fear, an invisible hand gripping at his throat as he choked out a breath. They knew, they had to. Maybe not the fac that he was related to the man, but that he was close. They had to know.

Energy which he'd thought he'd lost were brought anew as he tugged harder at the restraintes, a yell clawing from his throat as he thrashed, jostling his still open wounds and ankle.

They were going to use him to hurt his dad, he couldn't let that happen, he had to get out. 

But he'd never been strong. Always the weakest in his class. He hated it. He lived with the Avengers, for Thor's sake, yet he couldn't break out of the dumb restrainted.

His head slammed against the back of the chair in frustration, angry tears once again slipping through while his teeth grinded against one another. Whether in pain or anger, he could no longer tell.

His muscles, once tense, relaxed as he let out a sigh. He gave up. He wasn't strong enough, he'd never been strong enough. His dad was Iron Man, he would have escaped within minutes, and yet his son was still stuck.

"Hello?" His voice was much quieter now, voice thick with exhaustion. "Please, Dad, please. I-I c-c-can't. Please. Dad? Uncle Rhides? P-please h-help." Words became incoherent mumbles as his eyes slipped close of their own accord, head rolling to the side as everything went slack.

All he could hear was the drip of water, and his own ragged breathing.  
...

Waking up again took longer than the first time, before snapping awake as he remembered his predicament. 

The first thing he noticed was the dry feeling in his mouth. God, when was the last time he'd had any water?

The second was the light headedness. He tried to sit up but ended up just pitching forward, unable to support himself. The only thing stopping him from falling were the damn restraints biting into his skin. 

His head was pounding in time of his heart, and his stomach cramped. Sweat clung to his skin and dried blood caked his arms and the back of his head.

Why was it so cold? The room had been uncomfortably warm before, but now it felt as if a bucket of ice had been dumped onto him.

He feebly pulled ag the cuffs, listening to the water drip. He would kill to be closer to it. But there was a distinct lack of whir. What had it been again?

He looked up to the corner, eyes blinking out of focus before staring at a singular red light hidden behind some of the pipes. A camera.

How long had it been watching him? Who had been watching him? Why had nobody come?

"P-please. Please." He begged. For what, he wasn't sure.

More time passed, where he drifted on the verge of unconsciousness. Whether he would wake up or not, he was unsure of, but he just wanted the blissful blankness that came with sleep.

The ground shook as his eyes snapped open, only to close as dust fell into his eyes. He tried to move, to call out, but he couldn't. His neck was stiff, and he let his head fall back, barely wincing at the pain that went through his head.

He heard something break, and looked up to see a crack forming in the ceiling above him. And he... he was tired. He was so tired, and in pain, and just wanted this to be over.

Until he heard the footsteps. Thick, clunky, loud and oh so welcoming.

He only had a second to think before a door to his right opened, and if he could cry he would have.

"Dad." Was croaked out, barely above a whisper as he heard the suit disengage.

"Thank god- Peter, bud, where are you hurt? Anything a major concern? Talk to me." He could only wearily blink.

"Dad." He once again whispered, muscles relaxing at the sight of his father's face. He was safe.

"Shit- Apright, I'm gonna get you out, okay? Just- hang on." He disappeared, and Peter whimpered before the Iron Man suit appeared in front of him.

He could hear him telling Friday to set on a low setting, before there was a flash of lights. His arms fell. His legs dragged down.

He was free.

Metal hands gently curled under his back and knees, and he was lifted. Letting out an involuntary gasp, he weakly reached for something to grab onto, clinging to some of the ridges in the metal plating.

Eyes drift close, he let's the sounds wash over him. Footsteps, crumbling, cracking, shouts. No water dripping.

Before long, he felt himself being lay down, and opened his eyes again to see his dad disengage the suit, hands finding their way into his curls.

"Don't worry, kid. I promise, you'll be fine." Vruce came up on his other side, and he gave a smile, eyes getting weaker by the second.

"You'll be okay."


	2. In the Hands of the Enemy

"Невинный." _Innocent_.

"Яд." _Venom_.

"Один." _One_.

"Сумерки." _Nightfall_.

"Май." _May_.

"Восемь." _Eight_.

"Слабый." _Weak_.

"Сети." _Webs_.

"Интеллект." _Intelligence_.

"Железо." _Iron_.

"Паук?" _Spider?_

"Готов подчиниться." _Ready to comply._  
...

Spider only had vague memories from the Before. A man with a glowing heart, a woman with auburn hair, a man in a boxing ring being brought down by a woman with a clipboard, another woman with brown hair and a gentle smile.

He remembered deep rooted fear when drones flew at him, before the man with the glowing heart saved him.

Beyond that, there was only Hydra.

They were his home, they took him in when the people from Before abandoned him.

They fed him, taught him how to protect himself, made sure he didn't make mistakes, on l y punished him when he did something really bad, they even gave him his own room, and locked it to ensure his safety.

He remembers that he used to try and break out, but what was the point? The room, metal and dull, had a bed and a curtain around the toilet to give him privacy.

Hydra was his family.

Which was why he did missions for them. He would kill people who defied Hydra, and while he didn't like it, he did it because he owed them. 

He tried not to think about it, but sometimes he wasn't even sure he remembered half of his missions. His words ensured he was efficient and didn'g hesitate, as they knew he was still weak.

Innocent. It's what they used to describe him as when he first came here. He knew he lost all sense of it after his first mission.

Venom. The spider venom which gave his his abilities. Strength, speed, senses, adhesive, venom. It gave him it all.

One. The year he was born. 2001. He was also described as their top soldier, their number one.

Nightfall. He moved through the shadows, hiding in the darkness of the night and between the alleys of where he was placed for his missions.

May. The woman with brown hair and a gentle smile. He couldn't anyone else, but they helped him remember her by using her for his words. He wasn't sure she was alive anymore.

Eight. The age of which he came to Hydra. Or at least, that was what he had heard his handler say. It would have been seven years ago.

Weak. He was weak. He had always been weak. It's why he had to use the words, to ensure maximum efficiency, even though he was still their number one. 

Webs. His first invention after he got his powers. His webbing was useful, but Hydra didn't always let him use them as they couldn't kill.

Intelligence. Simple. He was intelligent. A child prodigy. His powers were useful, his mind a gift. It wasnt always needed for missions, but it was useful to have if things went wrong.

Iron. He... had never really been able to explain that one. He knew it meant something, as it was always knocking at the back of his mind, but by that time he had already become a good soldier.

Thinking of it, it reminded him of the Traitor, formally known as the Winter Soldier. James, he had insisted to be called. They used to share a room when the Soldier wasn't in cyro, and would go on missions together sometimes.

But he was now a Traitor, never returning from his mission, and apparently he saved Captain America, whom Hydra seemed to hate with all the blood of their heart.

That was a year ago, but now sitting in his room with red warning lights flashing overhead and the shrill siren screaming, he sat still waiting either for his handler or another agent to come to him. 

Whether it was to tell him to fight, to run or to ensure Hydra's safety by ending his life, he wasn't sure.

A knife was clenched in his hand, two more hidden on his person. Hydra knew where they were, so it wasn't against the rules, but any possible intruders wouldn't know. 

When the speaker overhead crackled to life, he listened intently for his orders.

"Паук, если злоумышленники доберутся до вас, бегите и найдите своего обработчика. Вы слишком важны, чтобы потеряться. Вы должны остаться в живых."( _Spider, if intruders make it to you, run and find your handler. You are too important to be lost. You must stay alive._ ) It crackled out with a gunshot, and he quickly readied himself.

He had been given his orders, and when he heard footsteps unlike any others in the base, his heart picked up. Eyes sharpening, he spread his legs and raised off his heels, adrenaline making his hands shake.

The door clicked open, and a man in a blue, red and white outfit with a similarly coloured shield stood at the entrance. Captain America. His anger flared. This man was the reason Hydra had been unable to help the world.

No sooner had the man drawn his eyebrows in confusion, Spider launched forward, letting out a shrill yell. His attack was obstructed by the damb shield, but the Captain was sent flying through the air before crashing into the wall.

He was about to launch another attack, but remembered his orders. Scowling, he took off sprinting in the direction of the hanger.

The Captain was warning others through his comm, but he was too far to hear the answers. 

Has passed by in a flash, jumping over the bodies and almost slipping in some blood. He tried not to think of the people that raised him, now dead at the hands of the Captain and his allies. 

Muscle memory let him keep an ear out for the intruders; that was when he heard it. Not stopping, he swung around the corner to see a group of three people who all seemed to only be arriving. A woman with red hair (red hair, red hair, her face was familiar, who was she?), a man in a metal suit and-

"ПРЕДАТЕЛЬ!"( _TRAITOR!_ ) Spider screamed, eyes wide as he leapt at the Soldier, whose own eyes widened before he was knocked off his feet. His metal arm clanged on the ground, and Peter went to snap his neck only to find himself being yanked off by the woman.

She threw him back, and his head cracked into the wall, a spider web forming like a halo - how ironic. 

Shaking his head out of his daze, he lifted his head up and glared through his curls, fangs straightening out as he hissed.

The woman glared at him, while the Traitor looked unsure and... concerned? How dare he?! He left him and abandoned their home, he had no right to care!

However, the metal man was what had him stopping short. He'd seemed to be frozen in place, and the woman glanced up uneasily at him.

"Peter?" Spider growled as his grip on the knife tightened. Peter... Peter? A name. A simple name, and yet it made the pressure in his head worst, fogged his memories, clouded his thoughts. He grit his teeth.

"Who the hell is Peter?" He spoke, voice slightly accented. He stopped shirt as the metal suit seemed to fold in on itself, the woman beside him hissing about what he was doing.

But his eyes. Those same eyes he had seen in the mirror, the same he had seen reflected in car windows or the shining metal of a gun. Why did they look so similar? Why did they seem so similar? Why did they seem so similair?

The man stepped forward, and on reaction he stumbled back. He stopped. Spider stopped. What was going on? Who was this man? Why was he familiar?

"Peter. C'mon kid, it's me." He took another step forward, against the warning of the Soldier. However, when he went to step forward, Peter fell into an attack stance and hissed, pupils dilating so fast that it was like staring into a different set of eyes.

The Soldier instantly backed off, and the metal man backed up with his hands up.

"I don't know you. Move, or I'll make you." He said, voice hardened as steel as he glared between the three.

"Spider, that's enough-" The Soldier started, but was cut off by Spider.

"You don't get to tell me what to do any more, Traitor." His eyes wandered around the room, ready to move if the opportunity arised. 

"Spider, you don't understand. Hydra isn't good. Hydra is bad. I-" His senses went haywire right as the Soldier glanced over Spider's shoulder, and he quickly twisted and snapped an arrow in two. Sedative: he could smell it.

Leaping up, he crawled along the ceiling before dropping again, sprinting around the corner. Multiple sets of footsteps sounded behind him, and others were now ahead. Stupid. Weak. He got distracted. He allowed himself to become distracted. 

Finally he reached the hanger, but it was destroyed. Bodies lay strewn across the ground, crimson painting the dull grey. The smell of death hit his nose, and he was so unprepared that he almost collapsed to his knees, but pushed on.

His handler wasn't there. Not among the corpses, not hidden in the shadows or standing near a jet. He was gone.

He didn't stop. Outside. He had to run. Those were his orders; run and stay alive. Find his way back home. He sprinted for the exit of the hanger, but the Captain jumped down from the roof of the base, shield clutched tightly in his hand. 

A man with wings landed behind him, the man in the metal suit- no, a different metal suit landing further to his right. 

Behind him, he heard the other suit landing, and turned to see the arrival of the metal man, the woman, the bow man and the Captain.

"Son, stop. We just want to help you." The Captain said, voice slightly raspy. He grinned in satisfaction.

"I don't need your help. I have Hydra." He answered, before attacking.

It was a blur of movement, throwing punches and kicks, flipping through the air. He regretted not having his web shooters, but Hydra had ensured he was prepared for any situation.

Except this one, fighting against two enhanced, weaponized suits and trained soldiers from what he assumed. He was already tiring, having spent all of the past week going through training, and because of his weak performance yesterday he hadn't been given any food.

Leaping back, the all looked at him. His eyebrows furrowed. They were going too easy on him, they weren't trying. Why weren't they trying? What were they doing? Where was the woman-?

Where was the woman?

Too late did he notice her absence, too late did he realise his senses weren't warning him of the threat before him but the threat behind. Too late did he feel the familiar prick of a needle being pushed into his neck.

Swinging back an elbow, she heard her fall to the ground, but it was too late. He gripped his head as his vision swam, head pounding. His limbs grew weak, knees shaking before they collapsed under him.

He was caught by a pair of hands, one cold and metal, the other warm and flesh. He knew it was the Soldier, James, the Traitor. He struggled, but his arms were being held by his sides. His attempts grew weak as whatever they hit him with took full effect. He was weak. He was a failure.  
...

The next time he came to, there was an ache in his neck, and restraints around his ankles with cuffs on what he assumed was a table.

Keeping his breathing easy and not moving, he widened his hearing range and could hear murmuring in front of him, something blocking it off. 

The lights off the room seemed to burn into his eyes, making him reluctant to open them, but knew there was no point in hiding.

He opened his eyes, only to immediately shut them again and let out a growl. All murmuring was silenced, and the doors opened as he heard three sets of footsteps enter.

He looked up to see the woman with the red hair enter first. He glared upon her entry, still annoyed that she was able to drug him but also impressed.

The Captain walked in right behind her, and he growled at his entry. He seemed to stop for a moment, but continued in. Behind him came...

...the man with familiar eyes. Except now he was wearing sunglasses, and a black suit and tie. He dressed like some of the higher ups in Hydra, although he had only ever seen them three times.

His angered glare turned to one of curiosity and confusion, still unsure of the man.

Even as the other two sat down, he refused to move his eyes off of the metal man. Who was he? Why did he know him? 

Movement caught in the corner of his eye, and he saw the red haired woman lean forward, eyes narrowed.

"You recognize him, don't you?" He narrowed his eyes, and she leaned further in. "You do. I can see it in your eyes. You recognize me too right? W-" Spuder jerked forward, fangs bared as he hissed, pupils turning to slits as his hands began to shake. Why were his hands shaking? What was the pounding in his head?

"What's your name son?" The Captain questioned, a light smile adorning his face. He could see past it. Your eyes never lie.

He remained silent, staring. The Captains smile wavered, before falling. There was silence as he glared, avoiding the man with the eyes.

Yet he was the one to break the silence.

"Okay, that's enough. Listen to me Peter, I-" 

"I'm not Peter." 

"Yes, you are-"

"No I'm not-" He hissed, before getting cut off.

"Then who are you?" The woman asked.

"I am Sp-dr-093. Spider." The man eyes began to tear, before he threw back on his sunglasses. Spider hadn't even realised he had taken them off.

"Tony-" 

"No Roger's! Do you see what they did to him?! They've turned my son into one of their goddamn soldiers! He's a kid! He's my kid." He choked out, twisting his chair away and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

But... he'd seen that before. From the Before. Sitting opposite him at some sort of table, only there was a fond smile instead of a broken frown.

He heard the other two trying to talk to him , but they were muted, as if speaking underwater like the agents when he had to practice incase of water torture.

He only stared at the man, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, face breaking from its steely gaze. He stared, and stared as the sunglasses slipped from the mans face.

He turned to face him. Those eyes, that face, the hair, the suit. It was all from the Before. The blue glow in the centre of his chest made him feel safe, shoulders relaxing from their tense position. He knew they noticed.

His eyes met him, the same brown he saw in the reflections of car windows and bloodied knives. The same of those in his memories (memories, not dreams; real, real, real). 

Flashes of a life outside the compound came to mind; painful and wonderful, despairing and hopeful. This man had been someone to him, more important than missions or Hydra or his handler...

"Dad?" 


	3. My Way or the Highway

There weren't many on the mission, it was deemed unnecessary when there were little risks. The only reason Tony had allowed Peter to go on it.

Peter, of course, was ecstatic. He'd been on a few missions with the Avengers now, mostly to keep civilians safe (which he didn't mind, someone had to help them) but he'd never been on an actual mission.

They were raiding a Hydra base, and he'd been assigned to stay outside and web up anyone who was trying to escape, long with Sam who had griped and groaned about being stuck with 'the goddamn spiderling'. 

But the man had grinned at him before they went their separate ways, telling him to be careful. He'd shot one back, before webbing himself up onto a higher vantage point.

The sounds of battle were prominent by this point, and he tried not to wince at the sound of gun shots, but a backdoor opened and three or four agents piled out.

Faster than he could blink, he webbed two to the ground before leaping of his perch to avoid the two bullets heading his way.

Switching the combination, he fired a web grenade, webbing the two assailants to the wall of the compound before they could take another shot.

"Nice save, webhead." He heard through the comms, before the man let out a muffled curse. Peter grinned. 

"Having some trouble?" He quipped, looking over to see him flying into an agent, knocking them out cold.

Swinging over, he flipped before landing beside Sam and webbing the agents hands and feet to the ground before turning to face the Falcon.

"Alright, that's just you showing off now." He split a grin, before his Spidey-Sense rang out in a warning. His lips tilted down as he tensed and stared over at the now quiet compound.

"Somethings wrong." He muttered, before the ground beneath them shook. Peter stood his ground, adhesive abilities being a major help, but Sam began to fall until a hand grabbed his own and steadied him.

Explosions echoed in the empty area, silence broken as birds screeched and trees swayed, dangerously close to tipping.

"Cap, what's going on in there?" Sam asked once the earth had stopped shaking, speaking into the comm as slight static grated his hearing.

"Not sure, I- Shit!" He yelled, cutting himself off, and Peter heard at least three people reply 'Language' despite the seriousness of the situation. He would have to ask Mr Stark about that later.

"Any agents I've been encountering all seem to be heading in the same direction." Natasha said, clearly running down the halls as footsteps echoed through the comms.

"Spidey, Wilson, you got some agents heading your way. Just saw about three disappear round back." By that time, Peter had already grabbed Sam and jerked him out of the way as ten agents appeared from nowhere.

"Yeah, we see them too." He replied, shooting a web which encased the closest one. They were all shouting to each other in another language, and he dodged as a bullet landed beside his head.

The two were hidden behind an old truck which looked like it had seen better days. Or some very bad ones. Was that a blood stain?

Refocusing, his Spidey-Sense rang out once again, and his head whipped around to see movement from within the trees.

"Uh, Sam? They're in the trees!" He shouted, shooting webs in quick succession, nailing two to the trees qhile the others retreated further into the darkness. 

"Guys, get to our position now! We're surrounded, and it ain't gonna end well for one of us, and I'm pretty sure that's us." More shots were still shooting from all sides, so he decided to take one out of the equation. 

With no warning, he kicked the truck, knocking aside agents and their weapons, making them incapacitated. However, this left him vulnerable. They took advantage of that.

A sharp pain in his shoulder caused him to cry out, one hand instantly flying to where blood was already beginning to seep out of the wound. He saw Sam whip around to face him only to get knocked aside as a second warning called out in his head, but didn't move fast enough.

Something embedded itself in his neck, and at first he feared it was a bullet, but felt a small piece as his limbs became weak and mouth slack.

He fell to the ground in a heap as he heard a yell coming from where he had kicked the car before a hand roughly grabbed his still bleeding shoulder and dragged him onto his knees.

His head lolled forward before the biting cold was suddenly nipping alhis face, and he passively realised his mask had been tugged off before a hand pulled at his hair, and he let out a weak yell as a few strands were pulled loose.

"Wow, who would have guessed the Avengers used child soldiers? Gotta say, I'm impressed." Someone behind him was speaking, and his tired eyes lazily tried to find the face.

His movements were instantly stopped by the cold metal of a barrel of a gun pressed to the side of his head. Even his tired mind could register the danger, and the blinding buzzing at the back of his mind helped too. 

"Tony, did you-" Captain Roger's started, but was cut off by a very pissed off looking Black Widow.

"Not the time, Steve." Her gun was leveled above his head, along with a bow and two sets of repulsors.

"Alright, let the kid go, and we can talk it out. And by talk, I mean I don't blast you into tomorrow." He heard the repulses charge in power, when the gun retreated. For a second, he hoped they had intimidated the man into letting him go, before a sharp spike warned him, and hard metal connected with the side of his head.

He heard shouts of protest as his ears began to ring, blood now leaking into his right eye from a cut on his eyebrow. He drew in a sharp breath as he was tugged upwards, weakly trying to grab at the hand in his hair before a set of hands bound his arms together with a rope. 

His shoulder was burning in protest, and he but his lip to stop himself from crying out. The rope itched and rubbed his skin, hand still in his hair.

"Now now everyone, settle down. I think you should really realise who's incharge here. I have no qualms of shooting this thing in the head, so I suggest you lower your weapons before I get to impatient." He attempted to protest, but was cut off by a harsh slap to the face.

"Quiet, insect." Arachnid, he'd normally helpfully supply, but his mouth still refused to cooperate, tongue like lead in his mouth. 

The Avengers seemed to eye each other, silent conversation in the air, but Tony continued to stare at him, and Peter tried to look back only to drop his eyes to the white snow.

He heard an exhale, and looked back up to see repulsors powering down, stance moving from offensive to neutral. Determination was set in his face, along with deeply embedded frustration. Peter felt bad for causing that.

"Tony, what are you doing?" Steve asked, a second before Rhodey powered down and Natasha lowered her gun along with Sam.

"Lower your weapons, Rogers." After a second, the Captain complied, dropping his shield in the snow. Lucky lowered his own gun and Clint unnotched his bow.

"Alright, now let him go." Tony demanded, but the man only laughed as agents went to pick up the fallen weapons, guns surrounding them from all sides.

"It shouldn't have got itself caught in the first place. Tell me, what do you do when you catch a spider? My wife usually sets them free, but I like to kill them, ensure they never come crawling back." The guns safety was clicked off, and spike from his Spidey-Sense had him jerking out the way, crying out as the shot went through his thigh.

The men went to correct his mistake, but it was too late. The Caltain had flipped the shield up into the face of the masked woman reaching for it, before knocking her in the side of the head.

Clint had grabbed one of his electrocuted bows, electrocuting the closest one while Natasha pulled out a spare gun from... somewhere.

The man who had been holding him was bowled over by a red and gold flash, blue beams bursting to life as Peter himself was limp as a ragdoll, white snow turning a pinkish colour before deepening to crimson and red. It was eerily beautiful.

"Peter! Kid, kid c'mon open your eyes." Open them? When had he closed them? An incessant tapping at his face drew out a groan as he turned away, face numb. All of him numb, actually.

Muffled conversations floated above his head, but he tuned them out until a hand curled itself into his hair. He pulled away, afraid the pulling would start again.

"C'mon kid, we gotta go." Metallic arms slipped under his back and legs, and he whimpered as his shoulder and thigh were jostled. Why was that painful? Oh yeah, he got shot. Twice.

"I gotcha kid, I promise it'll be over soon. Just hold on." More voices: frantic, worrying, loud, quiet. Something about blood loss? Cold. Too cold. Hurts.

"Pete, don't do this to me. Hear me Spider-Baby? You have to stay with me." Why? He wanted to rest, he wanted to sleep. And ultimately, he couldn't stay. He knew he couldn't, so he didn't try.

He relaxed, limbs seemingly more lax than before, and his grimace fell as the pain ebbed away. Everything began to fall silent as his thoughts quieted a d mind rested.

"Peter, please. Please, kid. You have to come back, please." Why wouldn't Tony let him sleep? Familiar hands were gripping the back of his neck, and his forehead was pressed against something warm.

He gave a small smile at the feeling, eyes slipping open to catch a glance of Tony's face before they slipped close again, and fell forward onto his shoulder.

A kiss was pressed to his temple, before everything fell silent. No snow falling, no birds calling, no more voices shouting.

"He's gone." A scream echoed in his head as he lost all ability to move, to see, to hear, to feel.

_I'm sorry._


End file.
